


I might be better off without you

by crispierchip



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Emotional Sex, Future Fic, Infidelity, M/M, Sibling Incest, Unhealthy Relationships, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 05:31:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11822211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crispierchip/pseuds/crispierchip
Summary: Dylan gets called up just in time for the Yotes to play the Oilers. He thinks that’s a little funny, honestly. Maybe if he didn’t know better he’d also think it was fate, or something; meant to be.He does know better, though.





	I might be better off without you

**Author's Note:**

> idk this idea came to me and i had to write it ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ [i feel like most of my summaries contain a shrug face but what are you gonna do]
> 
> that being said, this is probably the angsiest thing i've written, haha. i hope you all enjoy it anyway :))
> 
> thanks so much to hailey for the quick read through <3
> 
> title from gorgeous by x ambassadors

Dylan gets called up just in time for the Yotes to play the Oilers. He thinks that’s a little funny, honestly. Maybe if he didn’t know better he’d also think it was fate, or something; meant to be.

He does know better, though. After five years, he’s had to learn to know better, so he just packs his shit and gets on the plane, goes to practice and tries to earn a spot for the night. He does, remarkably, gets to play on the fourth line for a whole eleven minutes, and tries and fails to be happy about it. 

Dylan doesn’t have to do any press after, and that does make him happy, at least. He remembers coming to training camp the first couple of times, when he had to do all that press, back when everyone thought he’d make it, when they thought he’d be the next franchise player for the Coyotes, and he remembers proving them all wrong, too. 

Now, he just waits outside the Oilers’ locker room, for Ryan and Connor, so the three of them can go out to dinner. Honestly, he has to wait for a while, but Dylan is used to it, with Connor, not so much with Ryan. 

It’s Connor who comes out first though, and he gives Dylan this huge smile. “Dyl,” he says, and moves in to hug Dylan, and Dylan wraps his arms around him, too tight, to make up for how much he’s missed Connor and how much he’s come to envy him. 

“Dude, you’re pumped,” Connor tells him, after they let go, and Dylan ducks his head. 

“Where’s Ryan?” he asks instead, trying not to sound too - too anything really, because of all the people Dylan knows, Connor is probably the one closest to figuring it out, to having figured it out already, maybe. 

“He got stuck with a reporter,” Connor says easily. “He should - there he is,” he says when the door opens to reveal Ryan. 

Ryan looks at Dylan first, and Dylan looks at him, and it hurts so much, now, not to have a screen between them, and Dylan is stuck, doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know if he should touch him, if Ryan even wants that. 

Ryan makes the choice for Dylan. He walks over to him and clasps his hand, gives him a half-hug that has Dylan’s body aching for more, his chest reaching out to nothing. 

“What took you so long?” Dylan asks him, and his voice is so shaky, his face flushed red because of it. 

Ryan shrugs. “Sorry,” he just says. He steps away from Dylan and then some, moving to Connor’s other side, and that hurts Dylan too. It feels like everything Ryan does hurts Dylan these days, and Dylan is a glutton for it.

From there, Connor gets to his car and Dylan drives with Ryan to the restaurant. “You look good,” Ryan tells him on the ride over. 

Dylan holds back a laugh. He looks like an AHLer playing in the big leagues and also like he’s been lifting too many weights. He’ll take it from Ryan though. “Thanks,” he says. 

“It’s good to see you,” Ryan goes on, eyes focused on the road. 

Dylan looks at the wedding band on Ryan’s finger. “Is it?” he asks. 

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Ryan asks. He chuckles a little but it’s filled with nerves, and Dylan doesn’t want to ruin the mood before the mood is even set. 

“Nevermind,” he says. He turns towards the window and Ryan doesn’t press. He never presses, just like Dylan's mom and his dad, Matty too. It feels like they’re all afraid of Dylan nowadays, and Dylan thought he could count on Ryan not to, but maybe not. 

“We’re here,” Ryan says at some point, knocking Dylan out of it. 

Dinner is okay. Both Connor and Ryan make a concentrated effort not to talk about the team, Dylan thinks, and he sort of appreciates it but mostly he hates it, because he's not some fragile fawn that’s gonna have a fucking breakdown at the mention of the NHL. Still, he says nothing, and the three of them talk about the show they’ve all been following instead.

Ryan picks up the check, when it comes, and that gets to Dylan more than any mentions of the NHL could have, because Dylan is an adult, he can pay for his own food. Ryan looks at him like he knows it too, and he looks sorry but not really, like part of him enjoys messing with Dylan. Dylan wonders why he keeps coming back. 

“You need a ride back to the hotel, Dyl?” Connor asks at the parking lot, and Dylan does but he needs Ryan more. 

“Ryan can drive me, it’s cool,” he says easily. 

Connor nods. He gets this weird look on his face and then he nods again, and then he’s leaving, and it’s just Ryan and Dylan and all the space between them. 

“I can drive you, huh?” Ryan mumbles from next to Dylan, and Dylan wants to both punch him and kiss him, and it would be confusing if Dylan wasn't feeling it since he was sixteen years old.

“You are, let’s go,” Dylan says. He walks over to Ryan’s car and waits for him to open the door, slams it shut after he gets inside. 

“Easy there,” Ryan tells him, with all the confidence of someone who’s screwing with Dylan. 

“Shut the fuck up and drive,” Dylan tells him, and, miraculously, Ryan does. He doesn't give Dylan any more shit on the drive over the hotel, which is kind of strange, for him, but Dylan gets it when Ryan doesn’t even try to park, just pulls over outside the hotel. 

“You’re not coming up?” Dylan asks, and he doesn’t mean to sound hopeful but it happens anyway.

Ryan, for the first time that night, looks uncomfortable. “Cynthia - ” he starts, and Dylan scoffs. 

“Do you want to come up or not, Ryan?” Dylan asks, and he can see the effect the words have on Ryan, the way his lips thin and his fingers curl around the steering wheel. He’s quiet for the longest time, and then he breathes out, this deep, long thing. 

“Jesus, Dylan,” he says.

“It’s just a question,” Dylan says. 

Ryan turns to Dylan then and he looks - fuck, he looks old, is Dylan’s first thought. The way the light is hitting him, he looks tired, and he has a beard now, better than anything Dylan could attempt to grow. 

“Fuck,” he says, and pulls away from the pavement and into the hotel parking lot. 

Dylan wants to smile, except he knows he shouldn’t be happy about this. 

No one sees them, as they make their way to Dylan’s room, which is a small blessing, considering, and then the door is shut behind them and Dylan wants nothing more than to kiss Ryan, lay him out on the bed and fuck him; fuck him up. He leans against the door instead, watches Ryan watch him and waits him out. 

“Are you just gonna look at me?” Ryan snaps after a few minutes. “That’s why you called me up here? So you could look at me?”

Dylan did, because he’s missed looking at Ryan. He thinks, if he admits that, Ryan is going to laugh in his fucking face, so he says nothing, just waits. 

“Fuck, Dylan, are you not going to say anything?” Ryan mutters, and he’s getting mad now, Dylan can tell. 

Over the years, Dylan has gotten worse at asking for what he wants. He’s gotten better at riling Ryan up though, if only because he had to. Now, he says, “What do you want me to say?”

Ryan looks at him, surprised, maybe at the calm in Dylan's voice; maybe at the fact that Dylan even spoke at all. He crosses the space between them and crowds Dylan up against the door, and Dylan can feel how warm he is, can feel his breath, can’t meet Ryan’s eyes.

“Tell me what you want,” Ryan breathes, and Dylan shivers, can’t help it, and hates his body for giving that much away. “Look at me,” Ryan says, when Dylan stays quiet. He waits until Dylan looks up, meets his eyes, and then he leans in, close to Dylan’s ear. “Tell me what you want,” he says again, and he sounds so good, his voice rough already, and Dylan wants to ruin him like Ryan ruined Dylan. 

“I want to fuck you,” Dylan tells him, with all the courage he can muster. He lays his hands on Ryan’s hips, digs his nails into the skin through Ryan’s shirt. “Can I?” he asks, and Ryan’s breath comes up short and harsh. 

“Can I, Ryan?” Dylan asks again, his hands rubbing circles over Ryan’s sides. 

Ryan shivers, under Dylan’s hands and his words, and Dylan leans in, kisses his cheek once, a moment of tenderness that he scarcely allows himself. Ryan pulls back from it, his hands already at the knot of his tie, pulling it loose. 

“What are you waiting for?” he challenges. 

Dylan shakes his head but he starts unbuttoning his shirt, moves in front of Ryan once he’s got it off. Ryan tries to slap Dylan’s hands away, but Dylan is determined, starts working on the buttons of Ryan’s shirt and pushes it off his shoulders, leans in to kiss his chest, his collarbones. Ryan lets out a sharp breath, hands going to Dylan’s shoulders, holding on. Dylan thinks Ryan’s surprised, and he can’t blame him, but Dylan doesn’t get this often, these days, and he’s going to have it his way.

“You like this?” he murmurs against Ryan’s throat. Dylan kisses his way to Ryan’s cheek and then back to his chest, and feels Ryan shake under his lips, his breath right along with it. 

“Dyl,” Ryan just says. His fingers go to Dylan’s hair, comb through it, and his stomach dips when Dylan starts messing with his belt. 

“Yeah, you like it,” Dylan says, to Ryan, but to himself too.

Ryan’s fingers twist in Dylan’s hair, like he detests being called out like this. 

“It’s okay,” Dylan tells him. “You can like this,” he says, and the words hurt because they’re a lie, and Dylan’s fingers burn where they’re pushing under Ryan’s boxers, and Dylan would lie to Ryan for all his life, if that’s what it took to have him. 

“Dylan,” Ryan murmurs. He’s hard, when Dylan wraps his fingers around him, and he chokes on his breath when Dylan starts moving his hand. His fingers tighten in Dylan's hair, hard enough to make Dylan's eyes water.

“I like it, too,” Dylan goes on. He shoves his other in the back of Ryan’s pants, presses his fingers between Ryan’s cheeks and feels Ryan buckle into him, a little frantic. “I like  _ you _ ,” Dylan confesses, voice quiet, because he wishes he didn’t.

“Dylan, stop it,” Ryan says. “Stop talking,” he mumbles, but he kisses Dylan’s jaw, the side of his neck; his mouth, finally. 

Dylan listens to him. He kisses Ryan back, soft but a little biting, and strokes him off harder, until Ryan’s breathing hard, his hips pressing into Dylan’s hand. Dylan pushes him back then, until Ryan is lying on his back on the hotel bed. 

Dylan climbs in after him and straddles his hips, his hands on either side of Ryan’s face as he leans down to kiss him. They can move together, like this, Ryan rocking up and Dylan pressing down, and Dylan is still mostly dressed but they figure out, a rhythm that has them both straining for more. 

“You gonna fuck me or do you just wanna kiss?” Ryan mumbles after a couple of minutes, when they’re both sweaty and flushed with it. 

It’s kind of biting, and Dylan takes it. “Can’t I do both?” he asks, but he climbs off Ryan so he can pull his pants off, his underwear too. Ryan looks so good like this, naked but mostly laid out for Dylan to see, and Dylan can feel his mouth dry out at the sight. 

He wants to say something, maybe some of that, maybe all of it, but he holds his tongue because he doesn’t think Ryan wants to hear it. Ryan can barely stand Dylan talking while they do this, much less saying stuff like that. 

So Dylan takes his clothes off instead and gets on his stomach between Ryan’s spread legs, takes him into his mouth and goes down too deep to keep from saying anything stupid. Ryan’s hands are in his hair again, holding on, and he pushes Dylan down, holds him there until Dylan gags and Dylan loves it. He never stood a chance, really; Ryan was his first and his only for the longest time, and even now, he’s the only one who knows what Dylan likes and isn't afraid to give it to him. 

Dylan is so hard, he starts rubbing himself against the covers, and it chafes but it’s nothing compared to the stretch in his throat. By the time Dylan gets it together enough to remember what he was doing down here in the first place his chin is messy with spit and Ryan’s hips are arching, and Dylan has to fight Ryan’s hand to pull off. 

“Can I fuck you after you’ve come?” Dylan asks, voice fucked-out and rough. Ryan doesn’t usually like that, or he likes it even less than everything else they do together, and Dylan doesn’t know when he’ll have the chance to see him again like this, he doesn’t want to fuck it up too badly. 

“Yes, yeah, whatever,” Ryan says, and Dylan has a feeling he’d say anything, right about now, when he’s this close, but he lets that thought go. He gets his fingers wet with spit and presses them between Ryan’s cheeks, over his hole. Dylan takes Ryan back into his mouth at the same time, lets Ryan fuck his mouth while he presses his mostly-dry fingers inside him. 

Ryan is so tight, and he hisses, when Dylan presses two fingers inside him like they’re one too many. He makes a conscious effort to relax after that, though, Dylan can feel it where they’re touching, and it works. Ryan lets Dylan fuck him with his fingers and he pushes Dylan down on his dick until Dylan can barely breathe, choking on it. 

“Can I ask you if you like this?” Ryan is asking. It’s supposed to be sharp, Dylan thinks, but it’s mostly breathless, and if Dylan could smile, he would. As it is he rocks against the mattress and hears Ryan say, “I don’t even need to ask, I know you do,” presses into him with three fingers just to feel Ryan tense up, shut up. 

It just makes Ryan fuck harder down Dylan’s throat, and Dylan’s eyes are watering, his lips burning and his dick leaking all over the place, and Ryan was so fucking right, he didn’t even need to ask. 

When Ryan finally comes, Dylan’s jaw is sore, his throat tight and raw. His dick chafes, and he chokes on Ryan’s come but tries, which is all Ryan ever asked from him. He pulls off, after, both his mouth and his fingers, watches Ryan’s body twitch with it, and kisses Ryan softly - or, as softly as Ryan will allow.

“Can I? Now?” Dylan asks, because he doesn’t think he can take much longer. 

Ryan lets out a breath and nods. He doesn’t make to turn around, just bends his knees and lets his legs fall to the sides, spreading himself for Dylan, and Dylan thinks he looks even better now, if possible. 

He climbs off the bed to get the lube, and then he’s slicking himself up, moving between Ryan’s legs. Ryan flinches, at the first touch of Dylan’s dick on his hole, but he seems to catch himself after that and breathes out, waits for it. It takes a couple of tries, because Dylan went overboard with the lube, but he gets it, eventually, and Ryan is so tight, it has Dylan’s eyes slipping shut, his whole body shaking right along with Ryan’s. 

“Okay?” he asks Ryan. 

Ryan’s eyes are squeezed shut and his fingers are pressing indents into his own thighs, and he looks incredible. “Just - move,” he says, so Dylan does, pressing further in, as deep as he can, before pulling out, slow, as slowly as he can bear. 

Ryan keeps shifting underneath him, trying to push into it, trying to make Dylan go faster, and Dylan wants to laugh because this is so Ryan. “Quit it,” he tells him, moving slowly, even slower that before. “This is how I want it,” he says. “Are you gonna give it to me?”

Ryan opens his eyes then, and Dylan leans down to press their lips together. “Sorry,” Ryan breathes, and it’s like the fight bleeds out of him after that. He relaxes back into the mattress and lets Dylan take him at his own pace, lets Dylan kiss him the way he wants to, and Dylan hears the tiny sounds Ryan makes, can feel them against his lips, and he swallows them down. 

“You’re good,” he’s saying. “You’re so good, Ry.” And it makes Ryan choke on his breath, makes him spread his legs farther, and Dylan had to wait so long for this, has to  _ share  _ Ryan, but this is worth it, it has to be. 

“Jesus, Dylan,” Ryan breathes, and then he’s growing tight around Dylan, and Dylan is the one choking on his breath now, and it doesn’t take long after that, really, for Dylan to come. 

They lie there after, or, Dylan lies on Ryan and keeps him still. They breathe together, and Ryan tils his head up at some point so Dylan kisses him, soft and shallow, until they have to move. 

Ryan steps into the shower almost immediately, and Dylan doesn’t try to follow. He doesn’t think Ryan would want him to. So Dylan turns on the TV and just waits for him on the bed, throws on some sweats when Ryan comes out and starts getting dressed right away.

“You’re leaving?” he asks, and he hates how disappointed he sounds, hates the sound of his own voice.

Ryan scoffs. “Should I stay so we can share the bed?” he asks, and it pretty clear, he thinks that idea is stupid. “Maybe go out tomorrow morning for breakfast, huh? Hold hands?” 

It all hits too close to home for Dylan, and he turns away, turns the volume on the TV up higher. “I just asked if you were leaving,” he says. 

Ryan is quiet. He sighs and moves to sit next to Dylan, half-dressed. He puts his hand on Dylan’s shoulder and Dylan shrugs it off. “I’m sorry,” Ryan says then, and Dylan doesn’t know, he doesn’t know which part Ryan is apologizing for. 

“Are you?” he asks, honest. 

Ryan shifts a little closer, puts his arm around Dylan’s shoulders. Dylan doesn’t fight it off this time. “I am,” Ryan says. “I - I love you,” he goes on, and his voice is so small, the words so loud. 

Dylan feels his stomach jump happily and both hates it and loves it. “I want you to stay,” he says, a sudden burst of courage. “I know you can’t, not for the night,” he goes on, before Ryan has a chance to argue. “But - just a couple of hours?” Dylan’s voice tilts up at the end, like a question. 

Next to him, Ryan nods. “I can do that,” he says. “You wanna watch some TV?”

“Sure.” Dylan shrugs. He moves up the bed until his back is resting against the headboard and waits for Ryan to join him. 

“What channel?” Ryan asks. 

“Anything is fine,” Dylan says. His voice is thick, and he moves a little closer to Ryan, as much as he can without being obvious.

Ryan notices, of course. He curls his arm over Dylan’s shoulders and pulls Dylan into his body, lets Dylan rest his head on Ryan’s shoulder. Dylan can sort of feel the rise and fall of Ryan’s chest like this, as Ryan breathes, and he reaches out on an impulse and grabs his hand, links their fingers together. Ryan sets the channel to some movie, and he kisses the top of Dylan’s head, pulls Dylan tighter against him. 

Dylan falls asleep like that, and wakes up when Ryan slips out from under him. He pretends not to, and he doesn’t react and Ryan leans down to kiss his cheek before leaving. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading :D


End file.
